


things we must learn of each other

by Amielleon



Category: Nightrunner Series - Lynn Flewelling
Genre: Established Relationship, Foreplay, Harm to Animals, M/M, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 19:58:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amielleon/pseuds/Amielleon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seregil and Alec find themselves some breakfast, enjoy life together, and try to decide what to do with themselves. Takes place about half a year after book 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	things we must learn of each other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SaharraShadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaharraShadow/gifts).



> For SaharraShadow. I am so so so sorry I bugged you for all that information without using it. I live under a rock and truthfully am familiar with none of your other fandoms. Nonetheless, here is some relationship stuff between books 2 and 3 with something resembling plottiness and some schmoopy feelings and makeouts and stuff, not necessarily in that order. I hope you like it.

From his back-gate post as lookout, Seregil only spotted the farmer after the man had left his home. Far too late. Cursing, he ducked beyond the man's line of sight and waved desperately trying to get Alec's attention, some five hundred paces away through the window of the henhouse. Perhaps cued by that desperation, his golden head finally popped up and looked in his direction, and Seregil wove together his best approximation of “drop back down from that window and go around _that way_ , now, wait for my help, then run fast, I'll meet you at the brook” with exaggerated hand signs, adding in a _soora thasali_ toward _that way_ at the end for “mind the dog.”

Alec signed him back a “be careful” and darted beyond the window. Seregil hoped Alec hadn't misunderstood. Seregil nimbly climbed over the low wooden fence, jumped over, scooped up some dirt and patted it onto his pants. Once he was satisfied with his appearance, he casually folded his hands behind his back and walked along the dirt path pretending he belonged there.

“'Lo, neighbor!” Seregil called.

The farmer turned toward him and gave a friendly smile as he ambled over to chat. Out of the corner of his eye, Seregil saw a figure – Alec – take advantage of his distraction to dart across open space.

“'Lo! ... One of Mortier's boys, aren't yeh?”

Seregil leaned one arm against the fence and gave a flawless imitation of Alec's open country-born smile. “Sure am. Don'cha remember my name?”

The farmer gave a deep-bellied laugh. “Son, don't trouble an old man!”

“Why, I'm Kedrin, o'course.”

“Kedrin! O'course, I remember you. You, eh, went to the city did yeh?”

A bark rang out beyond the henhouse, and Seregil looked over as nonchalantly as he could manage. “I did, an' the mutts there're real quiet!”

Seregil thought it was a horrible joke, but the farmer laughed anyway so Seregil laughed with him – until another series of barks came, along with some alarmed clucking and fluttering of wings – and the farmer said, “I need'a see what the ruckus's about, begging your pardon.”

With a pounding heart, Seregil nodded gamely, muttering, “'Course, see you later,” until the farmer turned around the corner of the barn. Then Seregil shot for the cover of the already-harvested wheat field behind him, crawling through it to circle around the farmer's property until he could get a view of the scene. In the worst case, Seregil was fairly certain Alec could defend himself against an angry farmer, and he felt no distress along their talimenios bond, but still, he wanted to make _sure_ he was all right.

“Where are you, thief? Come out, yeh coward!”

Seregil peeked through the dying stalks to find the farmer standing alone, a single hen running in frenzied zigzags around him while the dog nonchalantly watched all the fuss with its tongue lolling out.

“Well done, Alec,” he whispered to himself. Seregil turned around and headed for the brook.

Alec already had a fire going by the time Seregil arrived. Five eggs, speared by sticks, were neatly suspended over the fire. “Where have _you_ been?” Alec teased.

“Making sure you weren't being thrown into the village jail. What happened?”

“Nothing,” Alec said innocently. “I got us breakfast.” Seregil gave him a look like they were back in Wolde again, and Alec was trying to pass on a particularly poor lie. After a moment of stubborn silence, Alec amended, “I was going to surprise you, but it didn't work out.”

“Surprise me?”

“You were saying you missed 'good food.'” Alec said the words grudgingly; Seregil knew very well that Alec was quite happy to return to the plainer fare they'd had of late, roasted over fires and eaten with one's bare hands. “I thought you might like some roasted chicken.”

Seregil recalled the scene he had left and stifled a chuckle. “So you tried to steal a hen for me? While it was still alive?”

“I wrung its neck,” Alec protested. “I thought I did, anyway. You were waving at me and I was in a hurry! Then it started flapping and kicking while I was trying to charm the dog.”

“I can't believe a chicken got the better of you,” Seregil teased.

“Next time we catch a pheasant, _you_ can wring its neck, see how easy it is,” Alec said sourly, turning his back on Seregil to rotate the eggs.

Seregil laughed, then faintly regretted it at the sulking set of Alec's chin and bruised pride trickling across to him through their bond. He reached over to brush Alec's shaggy, lengthening hair over each shoulder, wrapped his arms about his middle, and laid a kiss on the nape of his neck. “Thanks, tali. For thinking of me.”

Alec leaned back into Seregil's touch and, resting his hands on familiar arms, turned his head, catching a second kiss on his lips. And then Seregil was pressing and kissing and stroking, quite thrilled at the simple pleasure of having Alec there.

And he had learned so quickly. Alec already had a sense for what he liked, driving him mad – even without touching his cock, even through two layers of clothes – rubbing him firmly right under his shoulders and nipping at his neck right where his pulse beat. Seregil encouraged him with a series of hums and ministrations of his own, dragging the fingertips of one hand against Alec's scalp, the other tracing a line from the tender spot under his arm back and around to the solid intimacy of his lower back.

Alec raised his head and his cheek pressed against Seregil's, warm breath tickling his ear as the younger man whispered – 

“How do you like your eggs?”

It took a moment for Seregil to take in what he'd just said. Though a fast study, Alec was no courtesan.

“I don't want eggs right now,” Seregil murmured, sliding his hands under Alec's tunic and up his back.

“But if you like them with the yolks wet, I need to take them from the fire.”

Seregil did like them with the yolks wet – though frankly, he didn't understand how Alec had the presence of mind to be thinking about that. He grudgingly let Alec go, watching him with hungry eyes as he removed the eggs from the fire.

“Come back,” Seregil said.

Alec happily rejoined him, and their dusty clothes landed all about them as they exposed themselves to the chilly late-autumn air. Seregil pressed his lips against the warmth of Alec's chest, shivering and drawing closer in search of Alec's heat. Alec put his hands on his shoulders, and through a haze of desire, Seregil caught sight of fresh scratches on Alec's arms.

He took one scratched forearm and brought it to his lips, saying, “The hen?”

Alec gave a sound to confirm his guess, pulling his arm away and saying, “It's all right.” He knew Alec would heal from a few scratches just fine, but it never sat well with him when he got hurt. Seregil kissed the pale, stretched skin on Alec's shoulder, remembering how his body had reacted by itself, dragging Alec out of the fire.

In return, Alec nosed his way to Seregil's chest, kissing the round, patterned scar that had been the first test of their bond. And Seregil smiled and brushed his fingers across the matching one on Alec's hand, and Alec rubbed one thumb against a small scar from the ambush at Cirna, and on and on. 

Until Seregil kissed a strange line of pale skin across Alec's left forearm, and found himself having to ask, “What's this?”

“Bowstring,” Alec explained. “From when I was four or five.” Seregil knew from his own failures that keeping one's arm out of the way was easier said than done for a beginner. Yet he couldn't quite imagine Alec ever having been unskilled with the bow. 

Seregil took Alec's arm and pressed it against his cheek. Alec's fingers curled around his hair, and Seregil felt a twinge of sadness at thinking about this part of him that he hadn't lived alongside, still didn't know, and might never fully understand.

“What's wrong?” Alec said. “It doesn't hurt.”

“Nothing,” said Seregil. “I just wish I'd seen it.”

“I'm glad you didn't! You've seen me be bad at everything else.”

Seregil grinned. “That's not true. You've _never_ been bad at lovemaking.”

Alec seized him with fitting intensity, and laughing, Seregil let him do as he pleased. They satisfied themselves at the base of a tree, rough bark pressing into Seregil's back; they climbed up into its branches among what browned leaves remained; then in the sandy, muddy brookside until their skin felt raw. Afterward they washed off briskly in the chilly water.

Seregil picked up his discarded garments as he came back up to the fire to dry, shaking water from his hair. Noticing the forgotten eggs, Seregil gingerly plucked one of them from its spit, cracked it against a nearby rock, and peeled its darkened shell. He carefully bit into the white as Alec approached. “How is it?” Alec said.

They'd been eating lean for awhile, and so long that hunger was no longer a constant thought, but the first smoky, rich tones that touched his tongue reminded him. “Perfect.”

“Good.” Alec took two of the spits and held them back over the fire.

Seregil swallowed the rich coat of yolk on his tongue before gesturing at Alec's eggs. “What are you doing that for?”

“What? I like them cooked longer.”

Seregil muttered something like “Sometimes I can't believe you” as he finished his smoky egg and took another. Pointing the third egg's spit toward Alec, he said, “You'd better cook the life out of this one too.”

“That one's yours,” Alec replied, good-naturedly ignoring Seregil's teasing.

“You stole it. _And_ cooked it. I know you're hungry too.”

Seregil kept the spit held in mid-air until Alec, who was indeed quite hungry, accepted it with a murmured, “thanks,” and held it over the fire with the others.

Seregil watched him pensively as he tried to savor his second and final egg. When he suggested stealing breakfast, he had thought of it as a bit of fun – and Alec seemed to enjoy a bit of trouble as well – but he knew they couldn't live from one henhouse raid to another. It wasn't a matter of skill. There simply weren't enough farms along the way, and Seregil didn't want to ruin the farmers they met. But hunting was getting poorer, and come Cinrin the game would only become leaner.

Unlike the fall they had first met, Seregil hadn't a pouchful of silver and gold with him, nor did he intend to stray near his old caches and safehouses. That was much too similar to the life he had left behind. 

“What's on your mind?” Alec broke in.

“Oh. I was wondering what to do about food from here on.”

Alec paused only long enough to swallow his egg before saying, “We could find some honest work.”

“Honest work!” Seregil looked at Alec like he'd just suggested that they sell themselves on the streets. “You're not serious?”

“How do you think most people get by?” Alec asked gruffly, and Seregil felt a hint of resentment pass along their bond. Of course, he thought. Alec the good Dalnan had gotten by on honest work for most of his life, before Seregil had come along and ruined him. “It's not that bad. It's... steady. It's kind of nice. You might like it.”

“I've done honest work before,” Seregil said, remembering his earlier days in Idrilain's court. “It didn't suit me.”

Alec's eyebrows, raised with interest, prepared him for the inevitable barrage of questions. “What did you do?”

“I was a scribe for a time, until I dumped an inkwell on my superior.” Seregil said it with a hint of bitterness, so Alec tried not to laugh. Seregil could feel Alec's amusement through their bond, anyway, which was fine enough with him. He'd meant to put it lightly. 

He wasn't prepared for Alec's next question. “Was this in Aurenen?” 

“Bilairy's balls – no, not in Aurenen.” It came off sharper than he'd meant. He softened his voice to say, “This was in Rhiminee. Before I'd... been apprenticed...”

He'd stumbled from one bitter thought to another. Suddenly Seregil didn't want to be talking at all. He crunched the empty eggshell between his fingers and watched it fall to the ground, pieces somehow still held together.

After a pause filled with the press of Alec's worry, he heard Alec say, “We could make some coin patching up houses for the winter.”

“All right.”

Alec finished his egg and came over to Seregil. He touched him tentatively on the shoulder, as if afraid of making too much of the moment. Seregil wrapped his arm around Alec's middle first, bringing him into his arms where he was certain he wouldn't lose him. Alec let him, and wrapped him in an embrace.

“If there's anything I can do...” Alec murmured in his ear.

“Right now I just want you,” Seregil said, pressing him close so he could feel Alec's ribs against his own, his nose against his cheek and his mouth against his jaw, his chilly damp hair against his shoulder. Alec was warm and good and alive, and trustworthy, absolutely trustworthy.

Alec said against his cheek, “I wish I knew more, so I could help.”

Seregil felt a soft flutter of appreciation pass through his chest, and hoped Alec felt it too. “I'll tell you someday,” he said.


End file.
